Rain
by alaricnomad
Summary: Peter/Claire. A rainy day, a wedding day. ONESHOT.


**Rain**

_When you come to me, unbidden,  
Beckoning me  
To long-ago rooms,  
Where memories lie.  
Offering me, as to a child, an attic,  
Gatherings of days too few.  
Baubles of stolen kisses.  
Trinkets of borrowed loves.  
Trunks of secret words,  
I CRY._

_-When I Come, Maya Angelou _

Claire Bennet had always liked the rain. Contrary to what others would always say about rainy days, words they would use to describe it- bleak, monotonous, gray, dreary- she had always enjoyed the rainy days.

She enjoyed the coolness the rain brought, the wet, rich smell of earth that always lingered after a spring shower, but most of all, she loved to listen to the sound it made, the rhythmic pounding of the droplets against the roof.

The rain was one of the only ideals she allowed herself to indulge in, simply because she was such a firm believer in the rain as a life-giving force. She liked the way the rain revitalized the life of nature around them, the grass, the flowers, the trees. She imagined the rain had the ability to wash away everything that was wrong or terrible in the world and leave the people fresh and clean and new. It was a childish belief, she knew, but she wished for it anyway.

Peter Petrelli knew all this, as he found her in the old attic of the Petrelli manor, leaning against the large, twin-paned antique windows, overlooking the family garden. He smiled softly and shook his head, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked her softly, "People are looking for you."

She didn't respond, instead drawing his attention down to the photograph in her hands, the edges of which she was absently fingering as she stared at it wistfully. It was a picture of the two of them taken in this very place, sprawled out on the old bed in the corner. He remembered the rainy afternoons they had spent exploring, feeling particularly playful that day. They had been horsing around, alternating between a game of chase and a strange kind of wrestling, finally landing in a tangle of limbs on an old feather mattress, dust shooting up everywhere as they plopped down. They had looked a fright, disheveled and covered in gray specks and a giggling Claire had pulled out her cell phone to capture the image of them both.

Peter tucked his chin against her shoulder and grinned. "I remember that. I don't think I stopped sneezing for the rest of day."

Claire fondly traced a finger down the familiar features of his smiling face, forever captured in time. "We used to sneak up here," she whispered, tilting her head back toward the window, "Take snatches of time together whenever we could. There was nothing we couldn't talk about. There was nothing we couldn't share. We first kissed up here. We made love up here." She pressed her forehead to the glass. "I miss that. Life was so much simpler than."

Peter tightened his arms around her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Things change, sweetheart. But it doesn't mean we don't still have a lot of good in our lives."

He leaned his cheek on the top of her head. "Today's a happy day. Nostalgia's alright, but don't forget."

She nodded her head, murmuring resolutely. "What am I thinking? Today's a good day…a wonderful day. This isn't the time for sad memories. But still…"

"I love you," he said gently, pressing a kiss to her hair, "I know Nathan and Ma and everyone else are being overbearing, but just try to relax. Sometimes it's better not to be a secret."

She sighed and relaxed, pressed between the window and his body. She closed her eyes, smiled, and gently whispered his name.

"Peter."

The sound of the rain echoed against the tin roofing of the porch extending from their home, and just for a few moments, he held her in his arms, and the rest of the world never had to exist.

----

He was nervous. He was not sure why.

He, Peter Petrelli, had looked death in the eyes more than once and survived. He had risked his life countless times to save the day without fear and came out unscathed. And yet he had never been more petrified, struck more terrified than he was on this day. It was a wedding that left him bumbling and struggling at his wit's end.

He supposed it was not so much the idea of the ceremony that got to him as it was the significance of the day. This was not just an ordinary wedding.

The ceremony was to be held in a small and modest, but tasteful little church. Claire, he knew, had wanted an outdoor wedding, with only a small gathering of friends and family. But everyone around them had been persistent in wanting to follow tradition. Knowing how important this day was to her, Peter let himself get accustomed to the idea.

He fiddled fretfully with the sleeve of his jacket, letting his eyes wander over the assembled crowd in hopes of distracting himself from his agitation. A warm smile lit his features despite himself, as he took in the assembly of old and familiar faces. Both families, ready to merge into one.

And then, the crowd went quiet, and he followed their gaze toward the back doorway. There she was, a vision in white, beautiful and breathtaking in ways no mortal should have a right to be. His mouth went dry, his heart thundered his chest, and the blood roared in his ears as Nathan walked her slowly down the aisle, pulling back her veil to reveal the face of an angel.

The ceremony flew by quickly. He doubted he heard or understood a single word escaping the priest's mouth, for his attention was focused solely on the woman beside him. The "I do's" were said with breathless enthusiasm, her smile radiant, face flushed prettily as the priest pronounced groom and bride man and wife.

His heart in his throat at the priest's final words, the applause of the crowd dulling to a low drum as he stood before her, he laid a hand gently against her cheek, and leaned in.

The kiss was soft, fragile, and barely tangible if not for the way his heart soared with elation, leaving him drowning and grappling for a lifeline as his lips gently brushed over hers, light as a whisper.

Claire gasped, her eyes widening as she touched her fingers to her lips. A fleeting brush of contact, no more palpable than a soft breeze of air, and yet she had felt him- she knew she had felt him there.

Beside her, her husband frowned in concern, holding a hand to her forehead. "Honey, are you alright? Are you feeling sick?"

She shook her head, brushing his hand away. "No, I'm fine. I was just thinking about an old friend."

Peter smiled sadly, as he raised his hand in an attempt to touch her once again, but to no avail, as his fingers ghosted through her flesh. It was a good man beside her, one Peter could approve of, a man who loved her simply and openly, no dark corners or midnight whispers needed. Everything he could never have offered her. "Congratulations, sweetheart."

Peter Petrelli, dead for nearly five years, had fulfilled an old wish, and kissed the bride on her wedding day.

_I love you._

"I love you too," she whispered to herself and she took her new husband's hand, allowing herself to led back down the aisle to meet the congratulations of the congregation. As they walked outside, a couple of groomsmen opened umbrellas for the happy couple, as Claire realized it was still raining outside despite weatherman's reports to the contrary.

As they slid into the limousine, expensive leather seats cold against her thighs, she wrapped her arms around herself and forced a smile for the happy man across from her, his face flushed and bright with love. She shuddered, and looked away.

It had been raining the day _he _died as well. A simple car crash had killed what had once been the most powerful man in the world. She wasn't sure if she believed in the power of the rain anymore. Why should it give life anymore, when all it had really done was take it away? There was a bitter irony in knowing that in starting a new life the way he would have wanted, she was irrevocably reminded of the old.

When she raised a hand to her cheek, she wasn't surprised to find it damp. And it wasn't from the rain.


End file.
